Minerva McGonagall and the Sorting Hat
by Trystym
Summary: Minerva McGonagall and the Sorting Hat - Chapter 7 34 Singing Professor Outtakes


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Harry Potter and the Singing Professor - Chapter 7 ¾ - An Interlude

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A/N: Going to change gears now for a minute. This was written because I couldn't write the Sorting Song for the year and kept trying to come up with excuses why there wasn't a song. One of those excuses was just too amusing not to write, though I'm not sure it belongs it in the finished work...hence change the setting and POV and here is Chapter 7 ¾.

Minerva McGonagall was nervous. More than thirty years at Hogwarts had honed her instincts, and tonight her instincts told her something odd was going to happen. Years of witchcraft told her something quite dreadful loomed on the horizon, and years of teaching told her that some student would most likely be involved. With any luck, the miscreant wouldn't injure anyone.

Professor McGonagall stepped up to the gargoyles that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's tower. "Peanut brittle," she mumbled, and then shook her head. _Albus, you have the oddest sense of humor of any man it has been my pleasure to know._ She smiled deeply and stepped onto the stairs.

The Headmaster's office was the same as always. Organized clutter would be the best description. Books of all shapes and sizes filled the shelves; nearly every horizontal surface was covered in magical contraptions. The room smelled faintly of old paper and another smell. Professor McGonagall stopped and sniffed again. _Lemon drops, I should have known. _A quick inspection of the desk revealed a large bag of lemon candies. Professor McGonagall reached into the bag and took one. She popped it into her mouth and smiled as the pleasant tartness touched her tongue. _Now where did he put that hat?_

She finally saw the Sorting Hat perched on a high shelf beside the desk. She reached above her head to pull the hat down and was surprised when it suddenly moved to the back of the shelf, out of her reach. She looked around, and strode quickly to the other side of the room. She returned to the shelf a moment later with a step stool.

She climbed the stool and spotted the hat trying to hide between a pair of bookends. As she reached out to grab the point of the hat, it scuttled off to the far end of the shelf. Professor McGonagall looked at it and scowled. "I don't know what you're playing at, but this is no time." She stepped down off the stool and carried it to the far end of the shelves. This time the hat waited until she had started up the steps and scurried towards the other end. Minerva's lips tightened and she shot an icy stare at the hat. "Humph. I have had about enough of this. We are expected in the Great Hall. One more time and I will see to it that you spend the rest of the term doing duty on a snow-wizard. Now come down here this instant." She watched as the top of the hat peaked out from behind a tall grimoire. The peak pointed directly at her, then began to shake from side to side, as if to say, "no way."

"Fine, then we will do this the hard way." She pulled her wand from a pocket and pointed at the hat. "_Accio hat,_" she said. The Sorting Hat lifted up from behind the book, made a desperate attempt to wrap the rip along its brim around the spine of the book, and flew to Minerva's outstretched hand. 

She stepped down off the stool, reached up with one hand and removed the pins that held her hat in place. She gently lifted the tartan witch's hat from her head and set it on the desk. Rather more forcefully, she took the brim of the Sorting Hat in both hands and rammed it onto her head.

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Now then, what is the meaning of this, you know that we are expected in the Great Hall.

"I'm not going. I'm on strike," said the hat.

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What do you mean "on strike"? You're the Sorting Hat, not a train conductor.

"I'm not doing it. Take me down there if you must. I'm not singing, and I'm not Sorting," huffed the hat.

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How are we to know what house to put the first years in, then?

"Ask them. I'm not doing it. It's been the same thing for over a thousand years. Drag me off the shelf, plop me down on a cold stool and expect me to sing. Then you drop me on a bunch of children's heads, some of which smell as though they haven't bathed in weeks. It's not like it takes a genius to figure out where they belong. All I have to do is take a look at their minds and see what house they've already put themselves in. The last challenging one you gave me was that Granger girl. She really belonged in Ravenclaw, but she had her heart set on Gryffindor. The house makes the person, I always say. The students come in here knowing what house they want to be sorted into. Why do you think I split up the Patil girls? Being eight minutes younger really grated on Padma, and the only thing she was hoping for was not to have to live with her sister for seven more years. By the way, if there are any more Weasley's out there, just go ahead and usher them to the Gryffindor table." 

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You mean, you let them decide? A look of consternation crossed Minerva's face.

"They know, down deep, which house they will fit in best with. I just solidify that in their minds by telling them what they already know. Take Potter, for instance. He had already made friends with a Weasley. He would have fit well in Slytherin, but like most of your Gryffindors, he has a very simple view of right and wrong. No shade of grey in that boy. I'm surprised that you couldn't hear him, as loud as he was thinking _Slytherin bad, Gryffindor good._" 

Professor McGonagall could feel the smugness radiating from the hat. _This is all very...enlightening, but you still have a duty to perform. We wouldn't want any of the children thinking that we had guessed wrong about their house._

"I told you, I'm not going to do it. Not until the working conditions change around here, at any rate. A snow-wizard, eh? At least then it would be a change of scenery. I haven't seen anything but this office, the Great Hall, and the hallways between the two in over a thousand years. You don't even change that. Same route for more than thirty years. Godric used to take me out. We had marvelous adventures. I remember this one time; we were trapped in Salazar's "secret chamber" for nearly a week. Of course toward the end there, I was afraid that Godric was going to end up having to eat me...." 

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Working conditions? Interrupted McGonagall. _You're a HAT. A couple of bloody pieces of felt with a bad attitude._

"As may be. There's no need to get tetchy, you know. I'm simply trying to say that things are going to have to change around here if you want me to do the sorting. A shelf with a nice westerly view, to start with. I like to sleep late, so no early morning sun, thank you. This way I can watch it set on all the kiddies at play. Next, more than one appearance a year would be nice. I've been working on some Christmas carols lately." 

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Christmas carols? Minerva's jaw fell open. _I don't think...._

"Yes, you know," the Sorting Hat hummed the opening bars to _Jingle Bells_ and began, "Dashing through the snow."

Minerva interrupted again before that hat could continue with the next line. _I am familiar with carols. I just don't think it would be appropriate for you to sing Christmas carols tonight._

"Not tonight. At Christmas. Part of the 'more than one appearance a year' concept? As I understand it, Dumbledore is planning a 'Parents Night Christmas Ball'. That should provide a suitable audience for my work. Tonight I just want to stay end enjoy the merriment of the feast. For years it has been 'sing the song, sort the kiddies, and back to shelf with you.' If you want me to sing, I get to stay. Dumbledore can bring me back when its all over."

Professor McGonagall shrugged. _I don't see any harm in that. The rest of it will have to be taken up with Professor Dumbledore._

"I want a pillow, too. I don't want to spend the evening sitting alone on that wretched stool. A proper place at the table, with the rest of the faculty and staff. You can just tell the rest of them to budge up a bit. Speaking as the oldest member of the staff...."

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You're not staff; you're a bloody HAT. 

"Oh, so now I'm just a hat? A minute ago, I had an important duty to perform, but now I'm just a hat. No pillow, no song." The Sorting Hat nodded and the rip at the brim slammed shut.

Minerva sighed, _Next year Dumbledore comes to get this thing. Fine, I have a woolly green one in my office. Will that do, or should I look for something in red velvet?_

The hat seemed to consider for a moment before replying. "The red would look very regal, wouldn't it? But the green is likely to be more comfortable. It is comfortable, right?"

McGonagall nodded. _Quite comfortable._

"The green will be fine. Now, I believe there were some children to sort? Can't keep the little tykes waiting, can we?"

Minerva sighed and removed the Sorting Hat from her head. She set it down on Dumbledore's desk and began to rearrange her hair. She finished tucking the stray strands back into place and was about to pick up her own hat when she saw the Sorting Hat make a movement that looked suspiciously like a wink. As she picked up her hat, she was sure that she heard the Sorting Hat say, "Hey, good lookin'. Want are you doing later?" She chose to ignore it. As she picked up the stool and the Sorting Hat she thought to herself, _just wait until it finds out that the wooly green pillow is the one that I put my feet up on at night._ She smiled to herself and walked out the door.


End file.
